Continuing
by TeeDee
Summary: A tense morning leads to a lot more than Mohinder may be able to handle.  [Variation on 2x11 that takes a different direction. SylarxMohinder, Concerned!MattxMohinder]
1. Behind the Door

Summary: A tense morning leads to a lot more than Mohinder may be able to handle. [Variation on 2x11 that takes a different direction. SylarxMohinder, Concerned!MattxMohinder

Desclaimer: I in no way own Heroes. I just like to play with its characters sometimes

_Spoilers: Up to 2x10 and some of 2x11_

_Warnings: Character death (not Mohinder, Matt, Molly or Sylar) _

_A/n: I hope that this is enjoyed._

Chapter 1: Behind the Door

A Mexican woman, beautiful, smiled at him in innocence as she crossed the small kitchen with her hands full of plates, her eyes confused as to why he would not enter into a conversation. _Sylar _was looking on, that shark smile tilting his lips. A gun pressed to Mohinder's side, the once cool metal warming from continual contact with his bodily warmth. It was hidden by the closeness in which _Sylar_ sat, and by the table whose cloth fell in rumples that would block the gleam of metal from the woman's sight.

The aroma of the fresh meal pushed in front of him made Mohinder's stomach clench in warning. His mind was on the closed door to his little girl's room, not the woman who looked at him so expectantly. The anxiety rolling in his stomach made it impossible to even conceive of eating. Nor would he dine at the same table as his father's murderer.

"You have a new roommate - other than the stray, I mean." Matt. The detective. Mohinder looked at Sylar, trying to see past Zane. Every move, smirk, word - gentle Zane, murderer Sylar. He had to learn to separate them. Those devil eyes were sharp against Mohinder's every move, and Mohinder's repressed need to see Molly trembled through muscles unable to give in. This was how Bennet had felt, a guilty part of Mohinder's mind taunted, when faced with those who desired to steal his little girl.

"There were some pictures in the next room. The little stray and the cop look healthy. You must be getting better at playing house. _Mama Suresh_ feeds them, I bet, after _Papa Cop _works hard all day and the little one plays nice with the teachers." Mohinder glowered at the man who patronized him. The watchmaker's eyes were alight with mocking laughter. "I've always liked your cooking, even your tea." The smirk at those words made Mohinder cringe. "Maya is a good cook, too. She's a very _special _girl. Go ahead and eat, we have all the time in the world."

A timer went off on the small stove and Maya leapt up, startling Mohinder. "I will be right back," she exclaimed, her smile now strained but still present. "That is the rest of breakfast." As she crossed the room, Sylar leaned in against Mohinder's side, the hidden gun pressing tightly to his ribcage.

"She reminded me of you," the murderer murmured. Mohinder shivered at the tone and the implications. "Maya is so full of idealistic hope and has so much faith in the people around her. She naively trusted a stranger to travel with her. Does this sound at all familiar, doctor?"

This man had betrayed him. So easy a change could have had this monster, Zane, raising Molly at his side. Would he have come home one night to the room in shambles and his little one - these were thoughts he couldn't entertain, not now.

"Do you care about the stray, Doctor Suresh? Enough to save even me?" It had always been like Sylar could read his mind. Zane had seemed impossibly intuitive. Sylar, too - even without his powers.

"Gabriel?" The woman was looking at Sylar with puzzled eyes, her brows furrowed in confusion. In her hands lay a pan filled with heavily scented sauce and diced vegetables. Sylar was leaning close at Mohinder's back, lips brushing the shell of his ear in a perversion of a kiss. The woman was watching, puzzled, those large eyes darting between the two of them.

"Now that I'm in the presence of the real thing, a cheap imitation has lost its draw. This is a little show to prove I mean my words concerning the stray," Sylar whispered now, and even as the woman's eyes widened at the kiss Sylar pressed against Mohinder's temple, the man's gun twitched from Mohinder's side and was firing its bullet between her eyes. She crumpled and fell, her lips still an 'o' of surprise.

_Bennet falling. The lady in her shop, head opened - death everywhere - _

Doubled over the table, Mohinder choked back the acid in his throat, his own whine in his ears. An arm, corded in strong muscle and showing no sign of deterioration from illness, wrapped around his midsection. Kisses feathered over the crown of his head from chap lips. "You see," the monster's voice murmured against his hair. "You'll want to listen, Mohinder. You'll live but the little stray might not. Will you give me your blood? Or do I wake little Molly?"

His little girl, his baby girl - who could ever harm her? A knife on the table caught his eye, sharp and unnoticed by the eyes intent upon him -

-but Molly in place of that woman - her eyes vacant, that sharp little mouth silenced. This beast could do it - but could hurt her more if he regained his powers. A power to find anyone would be tantalizing, would answer all the parasite's needs -

"You -" Mohinder's breath hitched. He couldn't look up from the table for fear of seeing the woman on the floor. The knife was a chance he wouldn't dare to take. "Promise she'll live."

"If you behave yourself I'll even let your pet detective live."

For his family. For his father, a man who had scarcely seen him, he had once been willing to end the monster's life. Now, for a cop he had just met and a little girl that he had claimed…

Hysterical laughter bubbled in his throat. He forced himself to swallow it, but the tremors would not leave him. "When did you contract this strain of the virus?"

Recent. There was no sign of muscular failure, no extended strain -but it wasn't all that recent. Despite himself he started, amazed at the man's state of health. But Za-Sylar's body had always been resilient. How else could he have survived all that he had?

"That is fortunate," Mohinder murmured, though the words were empty. "I need a needle. Something to put the blood into-"

Sylar slipped an arm beneath his and hauled him to his feet, shoving him towards his room. "I'll do the taking," Sylar growled, that sharp grin upon his lips. "So this will do the trick, _Doctor Suresh_?" Ever mocking. Mohinder gasped as he was shoved down onto the bed. His assailant towered over him, grinning as he fingered a needle and a bag that he had somehow procured from one of Mohinder's drawers. How long had the man been here, going through his things?

"No spinal taps today," the murderer muttered with a lilt in his voice. Mohinder felt that he should at least feel ashamed. "Hold out your arm."

For Molly. Shifting to sit, warily watching the other man, Mohinder pushed up his sleeve and extended the one quivering arm. He was fully aware that they had brooked no agreement concerning his own safety. There was no pretence at gentleness as Sylar thrust the needle into his arm. Whether a miracle or some residual vestige of the man's lost power, the man had managed to strike a vein and the blood was pulsing into its waiting bag. Mohinder watched with a clinical eye, noting when enough had been taken. There was no sign of ending, not until the bag had been filled. But then another one was taken - for luck, the monster said.

Another vein was mined, and Mohinder felt himself go cold. Sylar continued to let the blood drain, both of them watching the pulses of liquid flow into the transparent plastic. Blurry eyes saw that grin stretch over the monster's mouth, watched the needle finally withdraw from his arm. Sylar raised the weeping wounds left behind and bent down, collecting the last drops on his tongue.

"I can do the rest of this for myself, _doctor_. Go ahead and sleep. You'll need your strength very soon."

He couldn't sleep, not with this beastly parasite in his apartment with his little girl. But, even as his resolve strengthened, the monster sitting on the bed next to him began feeding the blood into a strongly muscled arm. Watching the warm blood flowing backwards through the tube was hypnotic. When he was pushed back onto his back, still he watched. The virus had been an old strain. Mohinder was returning life to a murderer.

The weight of his eyes was too much and he let them close as he poured over his guilt, praying to deities he never believed in that he would not wake up to his little girl's death. The tickle of his curls against his face as long fingers combed through them chased him into darkness.

* * *

A cold cloth mopped his face, leaving his skin damp in its wake. Fogged thought teased his mind, residual strains of fear pricking at him from a source that eluded his dampened mind. His name was being whispered in a voice he knew, one of comfort that something told him he had greatly needed. Why had he needed him? _Matt?_

A gasp fled his lips as he surged upright, Molly's name escaping him with a reign of words. Where was she? Was she okay? Sylar's face hovered in his mind with its shark's grin. The cloth fell into his lap as Matt grabbed his shoulders. He was pushed back to lie down, too dizzy to fight off. But Molly- Matt was speaking in soothing tones but he couldn't understand a word the man was saying. Again Mohinder demanded to know where Molly was, and only then did he realize the problem.

_Molly_ and _safe_, these words he could place, though the others still refused to conform in his panic. English. He knew it, spoke it daily - even thought in it lately. Mohinder's dark eyes searched Matt's for signs of dishonesty. He hadn't been able to see her. What if it was a lie, what if Sylar had killed her first, then lied to him? Sylar was a liar and an actor, the best of both. What if he was still there?

"He," he struggled. "Where…"

"Gone." The hands had yet to leave him. Again the cloth was against his forehead, and a blanket was being pulled over his shivering body. "There was a lady," Matt dared, voice carefully neutral. Mohinder could see in the man's eyes that he didn't want to press this. "A woman who was wanted for murder in Mexico. Mohinder, you've got to breathe." Matt's voice lowered to a soft hiss to keep it from being noticed by those milling around. "_Damnit, Mohinder, calm down. Everything is fine. Molly is sleeping off whatever it was whoever was here gave her. You have to calm down. I can't pick up what's wrong, your thoughts are all in Tamil."  
_  
Mohinder closed his eyes, trying to focus like Matt asked. He could barely process the request, he only wanted to see Molly, make sure she was safe - safe like that woman hadn't been. That woman died by Sylar's gun - Sylar, who should have been dead. Sylar, who was there only a short time ago, threatening their daughter and wielding a gun.

Matt was staring at him now, eyes horrified. Then the hands were tightening the blanket around him, and the detective was telling him to breathe both aloud and in his head. He wasn't breathing, air refused to come to his lips, fought him with every particle. People surrounded them, Mohinder noticed. All wore uniformed, and their gloved fingers were going through everything. He struggled to sit up, shoving against Matt's heavy hands. They didn't budge. Dizzy and exhausted, Mohinder strove to regain his breath before any new attempts.

"It was _him_," Matt muttered. The nightmare that Mohinder had thought behind him was showing its proof of existence in the stricken eyes of his roommate. "What did he want? I can't - you've got to calm down."

Yes, calm down. Who wouldn't be calm after coming face to face with the man who had murdered your father, then your only friend in a foreign country - the man who you led all unawares to new victims, and then who tortured you! Biting back all that he wanted to say, Mohinder forced himself to speak levelly. "Let me see Molly," he demanded.

"Parkman!" Matt flinched back, eyes darting from Mohinder's own to the man motioning him over.

"Just a minute, okay?" Matt murmured, and Mohiunder felt a thread of fear. One large hand smoothed over his curls. "Just breathe." A blond woman came and hovered behind them, telling Matt that she would stay there. Mohinder tried to sit up but found her just as strong in refusal. Or was he just too drained?

* * *

"What is it, sir?" Matt asked, shooting glances over his shoulder to where his new partner hovered over his roommate. The scientist was still trying to get up, something that he knew wouldn't get far.

"A letter. For your doctor."

Matt grabbed the proffered envelope, his stomach clenching at the words. The letters penned on the envelope bore his geneticist' name, bloody fingerprints smudged together at the corner. He laboured over the letter itself, slowly piecing together the words.

'_I am sorry to have left so early. You looked so lovely as you slept, I hadn't the heart to wake you. Our next meeting will be much longer. I'll be sure to bring my own needles, since we always end up using yours. Greatest affection, Sylar.'_

"What is going on here, Parkman?" His chief was frowning at him, but the stern expression did not belie the concern in those narrowed eyes. Matt did a cursory scan over the man's mind and found only honest concern there, and a worry over what this would mean to the office. Matt hesitated, unsure of the repercussions himself. How do you explain this, when he himself had no idea? He had known that Mohinder knew Sylar, had heard of how the persona of Zane Taylor had been taken on, but this didn't seem like the passing acquaintanceship that he had been told about. Molly was drugged but unharmed, and Mohinder, though bled, showed no real damage either. Why? It wasn't that he was upset - hell, he was more relived that he had ever felt before in his life! But why did the remorseless murderer spare those two? There could be no good reason.

"The man knew to call and ask for you by name. He knew that this was your family. I know by his signature that this is a murderer who was thought to be dead, and one who has already gunned you down. Why, then, is this letter addressed to your roommate?"

"Mohinder knew him under a different name," Matt tried, meeting his chief's eyes and holding them. "Sylar worked with him for a while."

"Driving a taxi?"

"No, on - well, he had a few other jobs. I'm not exactly sure what it was…"

"We can find out later." Matt cringed internally. That was an explanation he didn't want to be a part of. "Be thankful that both of them live. From what I've read of this case after it was closed, that in itself is rare with that man."

The man didn't know the half of it. Rubbing his face, Matt glanced back to the bed and started. Doing a quick search, Matt found Molly's door open and Mohinder leaning against the frame, long dark fingers curling around the old wood.

"Stubborn," the chief muttered, following his gaze. "The man must have quite a bit of blood. Go get him to sit down and rest before we leave, we'll finish this talk in the office." The man hesitated, frowned, then shook his head. "Bring them with you. If the suspect plans to come back like that letter states then it would be a bad idea to leave those two here alone. Unless you'd be willing to trust some of the men stay?"

"They come."

The chief looked down at the letter in Matt's hands, and the look on his face was anything but reassuring. "That man shot you, Parkman. Four times. He also murdered that little girl in there's parents. Now you tell me that your roommate was on a first name basis with the felon?" He shook his head, eyes hard. "As soon as we have those two settled somewhere safe, you and I will be having a very long talk."

* * *

Brown hair fanned out over the pillow around Molly's small face. She was in a drug induced sleep, he'd been told. Not harmful, and she should awaken any time now. Once she awoke, dizziness was an expected side affect. The medic that had been sitting beside her, monitoring her rest, was informative. He had focused on the woman's words, but now she was checking his daughter again and his own mind was traveling away. Molly's parents' murderer had been here, in this room, calling him. The monster might have stood over her - had to have, to administer the drug. Was she scared, he wondered, or had she even known? Had she awoken, sensing a dangerous presence nearby, or, since she hadn't been seeking him, had she missed and slept on unawares? He hoped that the latter was the case, and that this hadn't been yet another instance which would scar her mind. So small a child, and with so bring a smile, should not know the pains that this one did. He couldn't help but feel that he was failing her.

Mohinder jerked as a hand settled on his shoulder. Looking back, he found Matt frowning. "We're going to the precinct. I can't leave you two here after this."

"Take Molly," Mohinder urged, looking back towards their small charge. If Sylar was alive, he wouldn't be far now. "She'll be safe with you there."

"You're both coming."

"Just you and Molly," Mohinder disagreed. "It would be best if you remove yourselves from my presence for the time being."

"It's not an option," Matt corrected. Startled, Mohinder turned to face Matt and was shaken by the resolve in the larger man's usually uncertain eyes.

"He's cured, Matthew. Sylar had lost his power but I gave it back in return for Molly's life. I have no idea what he plans next, but I do not want either of you around for it."

-Fini-

_  
A/n: I hope that this was enjoyed. _


	2. Awaits the Man

Summary: A tense morning leads to a lot more than Mohinder may be able to handle. [Variation on 2x11 that takes a different direction. SylarxMohinder, Concerned!MattxMohinder

Desclaimer: I in no way own Heroes. I just like to play with its characters sometimes

_Spoilers: Up to 2x10 and some of 2x11_

_Warnings: Character death (not Mohinder, Matt, Molly or Sylar) _

_A/n: I hope that this is enjoyed. _

Chapter 2: Awaits the Man

Matt refused all of the arguments Mohinder made against going with them to the precinct. In the end, Mohinder and a drowsy Molly were both bundled up and armoured with travel mugs of water for the short trip.

"I'm not sick," Molly ascertained for the sixth time since they had both been forced to the cruiser. Too tired to devise a suitable explanation to their situation that wouldn't alarm his charge, Mohinder just tightened his arm around her small shoulders and assured her that they didn't think she was. Nestled against his side, she mumbled something about missing school and stared out the window.

Out of the corner of his eye Mohinder saw Matt shift to look back at them from the front passenger seat. Clenching his jaw, Mohinder refused to acknowledge him, instead focusing on Molly. Matt was making a mistake and he had told the man so, but the detective refused to listen.

'_You'll live but the little stray might not._' The words made him sick even now as they played through his mind. Sylar had all but told him that he would be back while Mohinder had lost consciousness. It wasn't a guess that this would happen, it was the knowledge of it, and Matt continually refused to acknowledge the validity of this.

The memory of kisses pressed to his forehead and his temple arose gooseflesh over the geneticist's skin. Tension held his body stiff in the seat. He expected the glass of the windshield to shatter at any moment, pouring in on them with the screech of tires and the scream of forced breaks. His mind played it out so vividly that the absence of the chaos was striking and the fear would not abate. From the tension in Matt's shoulders that he could see from the corner of his eye, it was obvious the other man was picking up on his discomfort. _Let him._ Maybe, maybe the detective would realize what he was doing before it was too late…

* * *

"Detective Parkman has told me that you drive a taxi," the stern chief began after Mohinder had settled into the plush chair opposite the man's desk. Stern faces stared out of dusty photographs lining the white walls, boasting images of mostly chubby men and women with grey hair in various professional poses. Matt had taken the seat next to his. Molly was with the female officer who had driven them in. She had said something about a coloring book before whisking their girl off. 

"A taxi?" Mohinder frowned Matt's way, wondering what would possess the man to say such a thing. Then he remembered that he _had_ been driving one at the time the man had moved in. He'd just gotten… distracted. "I no longer drive one," Mohinder hastened to add, hoping to cover his momentary lapse.

Matthew's boss was looking at him in a strange way. "Why?"

Easy question. "I missed more days than they appreciated and, subsequently, my employment was terminated." And the car confiscated. That had been an interesting morning. Luckily, police hadn't been involved. Just the blond violinist with her surprisingly blistering vocabulary. Apparently, she had picked up quite a bit of America's more colourful language during her time living here.

"Is there anything that you could have done that might cause the suspect to have a grudge against you?" The chief was speaking in a clipped, no-nonsense tone. It seemed that the man was annoyed by some part of this that had escaped his notice.

Mohinder thought over how to answer and grimaced. Matt had told him to be forthcoming, so he would do his best. "I may have performed a spinal tap on him as he sat awake and bound to a chair."

"A _spinal tap_?"

"He murdered the woman I was intending to meet with," Mohinder offered. "It seemed only fair." Best not to mention that he murdered his Father, Mohinder mused. That would just add a new layer of issues needing to be gone over and the sooner they returned to the apartment the better. There he could work on getting Matt to take Molly somewhere safe.

"So you were going to perform a spinal tap on his victim?" The man was starting to turn a strange shade of white. It didn't appear particularly healthy, nor did his irregular breathing bode well for his body, but Mohinder doubted it would be useful to point this out. Besides, the man was being increasingly obtuse.

"Of course not," Mohinder frowned indignantly. "Spinal taps are incredibly painful."

The chief was staring at him. Come to that, _Matt_ was staring at him. He could see in Matt's eyes that he should be doing some serious back paddling, but that was hardly fair. There also seemed to be some shock in there. How much had he actually shared with the other man about that exchange, Mohinder wondered…

_Mohinder_, a mental voice sent his own thoughts scattering,_stop before you get yourself into trouble! _Mohinder huffed air through his nose, starting to feel aggravated.

_You were the one who told me to be agreeable,_ he fired back, knowing that his roommate would hear him. The man had an unsurprisingly poor grasp on the concept of privacy, likely due in part to the ease with which he could access other people's thoughts.

'_Not this agreeable!' _Mohinder wasn't particularly sure that he liked this new aspect of Matthew's powers. Mental arguments were preferable when they could only go one way.

Then again, he didn't like much of anything at that moment. Powerless as he was, there was little that he could do to help their situation. Matt's refusal to take him seriously was no help at all in that direction. His nerves were fraying. If he didn't get out of there soon, get Molly and Matt home - but he could admit that he wasn't helping in that direction, either, with his theatrics.

Bowing his head, Mohinder swallowed pride and anger. "I apologize," he muttered, the words thick in his throat. "I am being difficult. Tell me what I can answer for you."

The man was still frowning as he drew a white envelope from his pocket. Mohinder looked up, brows furrowing. Matt had shifted uncomfortably, eyes locked on it.

"First," the man began, as if they had just started, "I want to know if the two of you - you and this Sylar - were in a relationship."

Cold invaded Mohinder's veins. His mind traveled again to the kisses pressed to his head, remembering the closeness of the taller man's body and the constant invasion of his personal space. "It never progressed that far," he managed through a dry mouth. Matt's eyes were on him, now, heavy and shocked.

The chief was relentless. "The suspect wanted it to."

How the man knew this Mohinder had no idea. "There are some things you can learn about a man that cannot be forgotten. Or forgiven. He is a murderer." _And he killed my father, _Mohinder added to himself, but it didn't look like Matt was listening. The man was in full cop mode, blank and forbidding. Mohinder felt almost as if he were the suspect, and the feeling of wrongness spread through him.

The chief, too, looked cold and blank. "There was a letter left for you at the scene," the man now told him, and Mohinder sucked in a breath as his eyes snapped to the envelope. It was held out to him. He was ashamed to see that his hand shook as he took it.

'_I am sorry to have left so early. You looked so lovely as you slept, I hadn't the heart to wake you. Our next meeting will be much longer. I'll be sure to bring my own needles, since we always end up using yours. Greatest affection, Sylar.' _

The room suddenly felt a lot hotter. His mind seized upon a few of the words, throwing them back at itself full force. _Sorry,_ it fired. _Lovely. Longer. Needles. Affection._ His throat felt clenched. Matt had a hand on his shoulder, that blank look replaced by one of concern. Mohinder couldn't shrug him off. He just shook his head, the letter shaking in unsteady hands.

_See,_ he fired in Matt's direction, certain that the other man would be listening. _You both have to get away from me. I cannot protect anyone._

The chief had more questions and in the end wanted them in protective custody. Matt talked him into an around the clock watch. Mohinder couldn't talk much anymore, his thoughts a jumble that not even Matt could likely follow.

* * *

Molly had been home from school for several days, but had finally won them over that morning and gone to school. The officers had been discreet in their watch, but their presence was unmistakable. An unmarked car had sat at all times across the road, and others would drive by at odd intervals. Several would also be watching the school, keeping a watch out. Mohinder wondered how they would pull this off, but didn't question it. He had tried and failed already that morning with Matt. The man's faith in a legal system that had been proven faulty time and again when faced with Sylar still did not cease to astound the geneticist. 

Their argument had escalated to a shouting match the night before concerning the idea of Molly returning to classes. He was a Professor, he knew that he could do an adequate job catching her up to her classmates so long as homework was sent home with guidelines that he could follow. The cop hadn't been so accepting, stating that nothing had happened and that she needed her education and a good attendance. Mohinder hadn't been arguing the education part, so he couldn't understand what the detective was pushing at. However, the part about attendance was ludicrous.

However, Matthew had won. Too angry to spend the morning at home with the man - he was part of their watch, no matter that he was also a part of the family - Mohinder had declared that they needed groceries and forced the issue. A detective was watching the store outside, he knew, but didn't really care. Anger had all but drowned the fear for himself. It was Molly that concerned him - something that, it turned out, had been a foolish thing. The yellow pepper that he had been inspecting dropped from nerveless fingers as dark eyes met his across the room. An unseen force closed over his throat as his mouth opened, and it held him in place until the tall man, smirking cruelly and wrapped in a long black jacket, came his way.

"Hello Mohinder." Sylar wore his coat like a second skin, slim and deadly as a snake. The hold held Mohinder in place, refusing to allow him to stumble backwards and away from the body stalking towards him. Those predatory eyes ran from his face to his feet and up again. The body was clad entirely in black, dark and deadly.

The man stepped behind him, dropping the telekinetic hold. Mohinder shuddered as an arm coiled about his waist, wiry fingers digging into the groove of his hip. Breath ghosted over his ear, a sensation that took him back to a few days before. "I missed you, doctor," Sylar's voice breathed. "Have you missed me?" The man's thumb smoothed over bone through his jeans, trailing a feeling of chill in its passing. Mohinder swallowed, the only thing he felt able to do. He tried to move away from the hand but it was too strong. "If you keep standing here", Sylar murmured, "we'll make a scene and I'll be forced to kill people. Let's walk."

Throwing his head back, Mohinder felt the crunch of bone as he struck the man's face. Stumbling to a run out of the loosened arm, he threw open the glass door and tripped over a squat bin as he made it outside. Catching himself on the outer wall, he took off again. Somehow, no telekinetic hold was seizing him but he wasn't foolish enough to expect that to last long.

_Stupid_, he cursed in his mind, but darted for salvation in an alleyway. If no unseen grip had seized upon him then he had to hope that he had gotten away. The murderer didn't care to hide his power so nothing would have been held in check.

A discarded bag caught his foot and he slipped, striking his knees hard on the packed ground. Gasping, feeling the scrape and knowing it would likely bleed, Mohinder scrambled behind a rusted fire escape and knelt, panting, head and hands on his knees. Oversized garbage bins and piles of cardboard and other loose trash would block him from sight. Gasping air into burning lungs, he pleaded with his heart to stop its frenzied dance.

_Calm thoughts_, he demanded of himself. In his mind he focused on images of Molly laughing, of trying to convince her to try Matt's appalling version of noodle casserole just a few weeks prior. The pulse thrumming in his ears was calming along with his breathing but it was too late.

"Trying to run isn't behaving," a dark voice purred. Forcing himself to look up, Mohinder saw Sylar's towering form only a few feet away. "You have to stop testing my boundaries."

He tried to leap to his feet but his hands were cemented to knees that refused to unbend. All he was able to do was stare at Sylar's face with blood on the man's lips and a perfectly healed nose. The lips were twisted into a smile that had Mohinder trembling. It was a smile that embodied both the cold that could be in the man's touch and the fire that he could call at will.

"I feel like being generous," Sylar began, and the cold of that smile seethed inside the words, "so I'll give you the chance to stand and come here willingly. A little girl's life might just depend on it."

Mohinder's knees creaked as he stood but they held. He felt like he had been wrung out, a mass of trembling muscle that didn't want to obey the mind's commands. When he came within Sylar's reach the man snatched his wrist, cold emanating from the icy grip. The joints in Mohinder's limb ached as the chill spread.

"Murderer," Mohinder hissed, but was only jerked on, his words dismissed. By the time he had been dragged to and shoved inside of the waiting car, his body and mind felt sluggish. He leaned his head against the window, twisting his body as far from Sylar's as he could. The seatbelt fastened him in on its own, then a coat draped over him by Sylar's hands. The cold that had overtaken his body was lessening now that the hand had left him, but his mind still felt clouded.

His palm and knee were burning from the wounds taken. He twisted his hand, looking down at the lacerated skin where it had met the brick wall. His knees would be mottled with bruises, he expected, wondering if the filth of the alleyway could infect his injuries through the material of his jeans. There was a shuffling sound in the back seat and Mohinder twisted to look in the back. A familiar tank took up the back and reptilian eyes met his through the glass.

"Mohinder has always been fond of me," Sylar commented. Mohinder found himself laughing, a hysterical sound that he couldn't seem to stop. His eyes closed and he pressed tightly against the door, fighting the urge to sob as his body was wracked with the strangled sounds.

"If both Mohinders can behave, I may even bring home a living treat later."

End of Chaper 2

Next time: A certain tracking system has to be taken care of in the next part - NOTE: No Mollys were harmed in the making of this fic! She isn't going to be hurt - you'll see, though!


	3. Within the Nightmare

Summary: A tense morning leads to a lot more than Mohinder may be able to handle. [Variation on 2x11 that takes a different direction. SylarxMohinder

Desclaimer: I in no way own Heroes. I just like to play with its characters sometimes

_Spoilers: Up to 2x10 and some of 2x11_

_Warnings: Character death (not Mohinder, Matt, Molly or Sylar)  
_  
_A/n: I hope that this is enjoyed! _

Chapter 3: Within the Nightmare

Sylar didn't drive far. The roads were congested with noon traffic, making even the short distance seem forever away. Forehead pressed against the cold of the glass, Mohinder watched the sidewalks crawl by and the pedestrians stalk past as yet another intersection halted their progress. None spared a glance for the vehicles. If he screamed, Mohinder mused, it was unlikely any would even notice. The roar of construction and the noise of the streets would drown it all out.

There was another scraping sound in the backseat and the sound of a tail sliding against glass. Another question was in that tank, seemingly uncaring about its life being completely upended. Sighing against the window, Mohinder found himself asking that question. "Why?"

Which exact why that he meant he wasn't sure.

_Why did the man not kill him while he had the chance - a third chance?_

_Why had he not murdered his little girl when she had been before him, helpless, so few days before?_

_Why had madness so possessed the murderer that he had kidnapped him from a grocery store?_

_Why did the man not end this torture and stop toying with him like a rat in his maze? _

"I had to pick up a few things since you won't be going back." Sylar's eyes never left the road, one hand drumming on the steering wheel as the other flexed open and shut against the ledge of the window. "Seeing him in the tank I thought that I'd bring him along."

An easier why than the others.

"So you kidnapped my lizard."_And me._ Mohinder hated himself for prolonging the conversation. The quiet of the car against the noise of the uncaring city gave him too much time to think. If he didn't speak then he was thinking, and they were not thoughts he wanted to entertain. He was too close to this murderer, a man who tortured him not that long ago. The betrayal and fear were still close to the surface, ready to swallow him if he left his anger be overtaken by the building terror.

"Think of it as more of a family reunion," Sylar teased. "You like playing that game."

"Not with you," Mohinder muttered. It was impossible to miss when, upon his utterance of those words, a sign bust into a scattering of splinters. Mohinder swallowed hard. From the corner of his eye he could see that there was a closed expression on Sylar's face. The talking was over. Curling into himself, Mohinder tried to ignore that his life was getting shorter and shorter the farther they inched down the road.

It was a while before he was addressed again. They were idling in front of a row of rundown buildings on a dirt looking street. "Put the coat on," the murderer snapped. A break in traffic finally allowed for them to pull into the parking lot of a brick building that had seen better days. Still staring out the window, Mohinder didn't fail to notice the circular holes in the wooden fence separating it from the equally dreary lots to either side.

As the car went into park and his captor jerked the keys from the ignition, he shifted to remove his loose jacket before frowning down at the heavy leather that had fallen to his lap. This was ridiculous. "I hardly see the point."

Pressure momentarily crushed the flow of air in his windpipe. Then it was gone and he coughed, more from shock that need of air. Sylar was looking at him, waiting. He slid his arms into the long sleeves, feeling like an idiot in the too heavy and too long material. "Good boy," the man muttered when the coat was on. Mohinder swallowed and focused on fastening the oversized buttons, refusing to look his way. "Now we go inside. I suggest that you behave, but the owners here hardly care so don't feel that you have to."

Mohinder shoved open the car door and an arm coiled around him moments later, drawing his body flush to the murderer's side. Trying to jerk himself away worked no better than it had before. Scowling straight ahead, Mohinder did his best to ignore the fingers that slid between the part of the buttons to brush cold tips against the thin material of his shirt.

The reason for the coat was obvious when they stepped into the door. A smug and satisfied grin morphed Sylar's face from dangerous predator to healthy young man. The man behind the desk half-smirked as his eyes fell on the hand dipping inside Mohinder's coat, then eyed the two of them in amusement before dismissing them both. Geneticist, educated man, these were things Mohinder was used to wrapping around himself and seeing as his image - most certainly not a common whore. That he could be dismissed as such so easily made his stomach clench. There would be no help here. The invisible grip that had closed threateningly over his windpipe as they entered ensured he did not draw the man's eyes back to them.

The door to their room had a simple wooden jamb that Sylar didn't even bother to throw as he telekinetically shut the door behind their backs. Startled by the sound of the slam, Mohinder tried to break away from the arm but it tightened, fingers pressing painfully into his stomach.

"Relax," Sylar laughed against the top of his head. Mohinder cringed, hating that he was too weak to force the man off of him. If the murderer wanted it, Mohinder could easily find himself forced into the position the man at the desk below expected his to be. A shudder of disgust wracked his body at the image. To try and draw himself from those thoughts, Mohinder looked around himself but found that his spirit wilted more at what he saw.

Taking up most of their room was a single bed. It had sunken with age and was topped with faded yellow bedding decorated in orange and pink flowers. The flat pillows at its head looked as if they hadn't been cleaned for a long time, and had creases in their surface from the pressing weight of many a sleeping head. The small table sitting next to the bed held an outdated clock that had to be at least two hours off. Following the cord to the electrical socket, Mohinder shivered. An empty wrapper lay where it had fallen onto the floor. He forced his eyes away from the sight of it, instead focusing on the single window along the chipping walls. It was turned towards the back of the lot, iron bars attached on the inside. Protection from thieves, he thought hollowly. There was barely any walking space between that window and the bed, and again he found himself looking at it. The hand kneading his stomach left little room for doubt in what the murderer wanted.

The buttons of his jacket began unsnapping themselves as he stood there staring at the bed. His mind was yelling for him to jerk away or to drive his elbow into the man's stomach but his limbs felt too heavy to respond. Fighting only delayed the inevitable. He could do little to stop the stronger man. The hand left his stomach and Sylar pulled the coat off of his shoulders, chuckling as he did so. "It's rare to see you without your layers," the murderer commented lightly. Mohinder shivered at the purr in the man's voice.

A hard shove was delivered to his back and Mohinder stumbled a few steps forward before he caught himself. Sylar laughed, ordering, "Go sit in front of the window."

As if that had ignited a spark in his own spirit, Mohinder felt himself regain the strength that had momentarily escaped him. Instead of moving to obey, he twisted around and glared at the man behind him. "So you can kill me?" The strength in his voice startled even himself. With the visions of death - and that worse than death - torturing his thoughts, he had no idea how he could say that without a tremor in his words. Instead of seeming surprised, his captor only grinned.

"Doctor Suresh," he grinned, and Mohinder had to stop himself from stumbling backwards at the tone used, "I remember telling you to relax. Your body is much more useful alive than dead."

Then Mohinder was scrambling backwards, but his retreat was paced by the taller man. In seconds he was caught, having backed himself into the narrow space between bed and wall. Sylar met him step for step as he backed up, fingers grasping backwards in the desperate hope to find some purchase. A cold chuckling rang in his ears. Sylar's dark eyes were glittering as they started into his wide ones.

"You can act brave," Sylar purred, "but the pounding of your heart says that you're afraid."

Mohinder's fingertips touched cold metal. The clock. Closing his sweating hand over it, he jerked hard enough to tear the cord from the wall and jumped forward, swinging it at Sylar's head. His makeshift club stopped midair, and Mohinder's arm and shoulder rang with the aftershock of the halted blow. Gasping, he let go of it as if burned and jumped backwards. His back met with a slam against the enclosing wall, knocking the air from his lungs. The clock remained, hovering, in the air as Sylar passed it. Sylar had him cornered

"You always have to do things the hard way," Sylar sighed. It was a voice of the longsuffering. The murderer grabbed Mohinder's arm, dragging him the few steps forward that would position him in front of the barred window.

Mohinder put up a second struggle but it was over before it had even started. Slammed against the ground, wrists bound above his head to the bars of the window and a strip of the disgusting pillowcase lodged in his mouth as a gag, he could only glare as the murderer turned off the lights and left him there. The sound of his own pulse in his ears pounded unsteadily, an internal countdown to when the murderer would return. He tried not to recognize the relief that had filled him with the closing of the door.

* * *

It felt like hours that Mohinder was trapped there, arms locked behind his back and legs bent uncomfortably to accommodate his body in the small space. Everything had fallen to madness in his life. Concern for Molly and Matthew ate at him as he waited there. Every second was one in which they might be being murdered, and by a man that he himself had returned to power. These thoughts fled him as he heard a key scrape the lock and felt the ropes around his wrists slide away. Staring at the door, mouth parched, he watched it open and in walk the murderer. In his arms lay the long jacket, rolled and seemingly larger than it should have been. Sylar dropped his bundle as he walked past the bed, a smirk on his lips. One elegant and long-fingered hand flicked, an afterthought, then a high pitched scream tore through the room - a scream he recognized.

Ignoring the aches of his wrists and ankles, Mohinder launched to his feet and threw himself towards the small body fighting its way free of the leather. Sylar was stumbling backwards, his hands against his ears. The screaming cut off as Mohinder, kneeling in the bed, pulled Molly against him. Her tearstained face was pinched and going red, her mouth gasping as small hands scraped desperately against her throat. Grabbing her hands and twisting her fingers between his larger ones to keep her from hurting herself, Mohinder whipped around to face the madman. "Let her go, Sylar!"

She choked and fell against him, sobbing but no longer screaming. Mohinder doubted that she could. Releasing her hands, he drew her tightly against his chest and glared at the murderer. One of the murderer's hands was rubbing the side of his head where an ache had doubtlessly formed. That mocking grin he had worn on entering was long gone, replaced now with a grimace of annoyance. Mohinder felt no pity. He had murdered a woman for that power, let him suffer.

"If you can't keep that thing quiet then I'll get rid of it," Sylar snapped as Mohinder began inspecting his little girl's neck. It was red but she was breathing fine now, soft hiccups and sobs unhindered by any lasting damage.

"You killed her parents, how would you expect her to act," Mohinder hissed. Assured that there was no real damage, he pulled her sobbing form closer and wished that it could be enough protection. He knew better.

"If she doesn't quiet down then she gets to lose another one," Sylar snapped back, dark eyes narrowed at the small girl crying against Mohinder's chest. There was a spark in those intense eyes that Mohinder couldn't place, something between distaste and disgust. It made his stomach feel painfully empty.

"And here I thought you were enjoying my company," Mohinder managed. He stroked Molly's hair as he glared over her head. Sylar glared back.

"It isn't yours I'll be getting rid of. Either you quiet her down," Sylar growled lowly, and the light of his eyes told Mohinder that every word was meant, "or I dump her in the next lake we pass. I doubt her powers would be much use there."

This crass declaration horrified the geneticist. Pushing her back gently, he tried twice before he could speak. "She's a terrified little girl!" He threw himself to his feet and off of the bed, keeping his sobbing child behind him. He would die before he saw her hurt again by this man. This was a fact that he was certain Sylar recognized judging by the hardness that had entered the monster's eyes. "You don't have to do this," Mohinder pleaded, willing to give up his pride if it meant her life. "I'm here for you to get your revenge on. Molly is just a child. Let her go home."

Sylar responded in a flinty voice that showed no caring for Mohinder's shattered pride. "Right now she is alive because I'm a generous person. If I return the stray to the detective he can find us no matter where we go. The kid stays."

Us and we. Mohinder's legs felt as if they would give beneath his weight. Only the knowledge that Molly trembled and cried behind him gave him the strength to keep his balance. "If she promises not to tell," he tried, mindful of how weak he sounded, "will you let her go?"

Sylar stepped towards him, one hand lifting. Mohinder jerked his chin higher, meeting those sharp eyes and refusing to budge. The fingers connected with his chin, their touch light. "If I knew you any less, Doctor Suresh, I might have almost considered it."

Growling, Mohinder knocked the arm away. Instead of being angered Sylar cocked his head, his infuriating half grin reappearing. "Yes, doctor?"

"Whatever you have fooled yourself into thinking," Mohinder hissed, trembling somewhere between infuriated and mentally exhausted, "you will find it a mistake. Neither of us are toys that you can just play with at your leisure. This is a little girl's life that you are destroying."

"Here I thought that I was saving it," Sylar simpered. Mohinder clenched his jaws at the mocking tone that the murderer had adopted. The laughter lighting those eyes was cold and cruel. Sylar knew what he was doing, it whispered, but he didn't care. "We were going to stay here tonight but after her little screaming session I think we'll move on. If you don't want her dead then wrap her back up and follow me. If either of you make a fuss?" He grinned wolfishly, throwing back his head. "Her head gets split open."

"The boogieman," Molly whined against him, having clambered off of the bed. Mohinder crouched down to her level as Sylar threw the coat his way. He looked from it to the child that was once again clinging to him, and knew there was no choice if he wanted to get her through this.

Smoothing the tear dampened strands of hair out of her face, Mohinder tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "You have to be a brave girl," he whispered, willing her to understand. The coat felt heavy in his hands as he picked it up. "Can you be brave for me?"

She nodded slowly, large tears still dripping down her face. It was a lot he was asking of her. The murderer who watched them both looked on without a care, still as a statue and smirking in contentment. Mohinder gently draped the coat over her shoulders, then pulled her into his arms. "Lean on my shoulder," he murmured, and as she curled her shaking body into place he glared once more at their captor. The coat was wrapped higher over her by Sylar himself, creating the illusion that it was a rolled up coat that he carried and not a small human body. It was a poor illusion, but something about the man downstairs made him doubt he would be paying attention to any burdens.

As soon as Mohinder was outside the door Sylar's arm was back around his waist. Without the added material of either the leather jacket or his own coat, the arm felt far too close. He was pulled next to the man's side, positioning Molly where her back brushed Sylar. They were both exactly where he wanted them, perfectly placed so that he only had to reach out and they would fall beneath his touch.

The man at the desk looked up when they exited the stairwell. Sylar threw him a grin, arm tightening almost painfully around Mohinder's waist. The man smirked and Mohinder burned as the elder's gaze trailed over his body. Sylar chuckled in his ear as the door closed behind them.

- End Chapter -

_A/n: Well, another chapter down. Now that Sylar has his two captives ( or three, considering Mohinder jr), what is he going to do with them? I doubt that it will involve New York! _


	4. Of the Child

Summary: A tense morning leads to a lot more than Mohinder may be able to handle. [Variation on 2x11 that takes a different direction. SylarxMohinder

Desclaimer: I in no way own Heroes. I just like to play with its characters sometimes

Rating: R

Spoilers: Up to 2x10 and some of 2x11

Warnings: Unwanted advances. (Other warnings are placed on the chapters that they occur within)

Chapter 4 : Of the Child

An old silver jeep pitted by spots of spreading rust had pulled up next to the car they had arrived in. It looked as if it would emit a cloud of dark smoke at any moment, its last gasp before giving way to the newer generation. Shifting Molly's tense weight against his shoulder, Mohinder was forced to move closer to the monster that guided him as they walked into the scant space between the two vehicles. It was the Jeep that he was shoved towards.

"In."

Eyes widening at the deathtrap he was expected to enter, Mohinder shot their captor an incredulous look. "_This?" _

The man who had toyed with him earlier was gone, and in his place was a scowling and impatient sociopath who did not appear to find his concern acceptable. "Or the other if you would rather," the man snapped. "Only, I doubt you will find the fit comfortable."

One hand lifted, hovering just above the hood of the car. For a moment the air shimmered between the fingers and the metal, silent currents invisible to the naked eye spreading between the two. With a curse Mohinder leaped backwards, barely avoiding the pools of liquid metal that flowed from where had once sat a vehicle. Whimpers fell against his ears as Molly was startled by both his exclamation and the sudden movement. Mohinder concentrated hard on slowing his breathing, knowing his heart was a lost cause. He had forgotten this power, one that had been entwined in his thoughts with the persona of Zane. What else, Mohinder asked himself, had he allowed to slip his mind?

Those cold eyes were still watching him, hard and impatient. The handle on the door felt cold in his hand as he moved to enter the jeep. Some thought nagged the back of his mind, something that he had forgotten -

His hand fell from the metal, fingers suddenly nerveless. His last link with his father -

"The lizard -"

A living creature had been inside that car. Why had the madman gone to the trouble of stealing it if only to slaughter it in so senseless a way? He stared at Sylar, his stomach churning and his muscles weak. He had never cared for it, had fed it out of duty, but now - now, with it gone, without that remembrance to prove his father had existed -

And Sylar laughed at him, long and loud.

"Are you concerned for your little pet? And when you should be more worried about yourself?"

Molly was shifting again, terrified and sightless. Mohinder could only tighten his hold, his eyes locked on the beast that towered over him, laughing at them both.

"His cage can melt as easily as a car," Sylar taunted. Mohinder held his ground, still reeling from a loss that he hadn't expected to care about. Madness was everywhere, it seemed. He stood before the man who killed his father, who had slaughtered the parents of the daughter he held, and he mourned the loss of a pet that he barely ever remembered to feed.

Mohinder kept staring, his heart racing and his mind a tangle of thoughts that could fall into an alignment he could read. "Do you think me such a person, Doctor?" Sylar was cooing the words, the angry persona discarded once more for the teasing one. "Would I kill so easily, and one so small?" The eyes flicked to the coat that Mohinder clutched against his shoulder, perhaps even seeing the body that trembled beneath. The grin was unmistakable, and the lack of madness in those eyes was what scared Mohinder the most.

The monster laughed again, his head thrown back and his eyes actually closing in mirth. "Look in the back seat, Mohinder," Sylar ordered at last, words layered in delight. "Poor little geneticist."

Mohinder cursed himself for feeling relieved, closing his eyes to regain his breath before opening the back door. Mocking laughter rang in his ears as he settled Molly into the seat next to the tank and buckled her in, trying to ignore the fact that she was crying again. As moved to climb in next to her the laughter ceased and a harsh grip jerked him back from the door. "Uh uh. You get to be in the front with me."

Sparing a glare for their smug captor, Mohinder eased Molly's hair out of her eyes with his free hand. "I promise," he whispered again, not caring that the other man could hear, "you will be fine."

He got in the front. "Now that everyone is comfortable," Sylar announced, smirking at Mohinder through the rear-view mirror, "we can get on our way." That said, the man made a show of reaching for the keys only to jerk back his hand before turning them. "Almost forgot," he continued, lips twisting into a parody of an amused smile. "Mama Suresh still has to take her medicine."

A white pill was fished out of the man's pocket. I'm afraid that I had to use this instead of our needles, for obvious reasons I'm sure." Mohinder's throat felt as if something were lodged inside it as he looked at the seemingly innocent capsule on the outstretched palm. Moving to knock it away, he only managed to raise his hand before it was pinned by an invisible vice..

Sylar leaned closer, twisting his hand to catch and hold the pill between two fingers. "I think," he murmured, lips almost brushing Mohinder's, "that I will do this."

Beneath Molly's terrified stare Sylar tapped the pill against Mohinder's nose in a pretence of affection. A snarl escaped the scientist's lips, spurring the murderer on in his amusement. Again the pill was tapped against the tip of his nose, followed by it immediately being lowered to press against the geneticist's swiftly pressed lips.

"Swallow," Sylar urged, "or a little girl suffers for it. I promise, doctor, that we will be right where you left us once you finally wake up.

The pill remained pressed to Mohinder's lips. Sylar was smirking, knowing he had the upper hand. Looking in the mirror at Molly's face, Mohinder released his breath. He didn't trust the other man, but thoughts of what would be done to force him to obey were worse than going along. The pill caught in his throat as he swallowed it dry and a bottle of water was pushed into his now free hand. "You'll want to drink that quickly," Sylar suggested smugly. "They work fast."

He did and it proved accurate. Mohinder fought the waves of drowsiness as they crashed over him, telling himself not to succumb, but his eyelids drooped beneath a weight that settled over his entire body. Molly's sobbing and the starting of the engine followed him into the darkness.

* * *

The geneticist was sleeping against the door of the car, his open mouth making sighing sounds as he breathed evenly. Even beats pulsed from the man's heart, a calming sound in the wake of the drumming of anxiety that it had replaced. There was another, smaller pulse in the car with him that had yet to steady, but from that one he had little fear of it giving out. She was young enough that the rush of emotion was probably healthy. If not, what did he care?

"Matt's going to come and save us." The tiny voice reeked of the girl's fear. Sylar almost laughed. He hadn't thought she would dare speak to him so soon.

Well, a brave deed deserved a rewarding answer. "I doubt that." Her little face crumbled, reddened eyes blinking continually against the endless tears. What Mohinder wanted this _thing _ for he didn't even want to understand. Shrieks, tears, and little whining voices had never seemed to have a proper place in his mind. They were creatures that were underfoot, their cogs yet to be fashioned and their minds full of pieces that were missing or had no place.

"He _will, " _she repeated in a quivering voice. "And then he'll put you into a nightmare."

Clenching his teeth, he counted the beats of Mohinder's heart and glared at the road leading from the city. Eight or more hours, he reminded himself, before the man should wake up. He could take this for that long. If the medication hadn't warned against the use on minors, two at least of the ten milligram tablets would have been finding themselves shoved down her throat.

Silence was what he wanted. Between her pounding heartbeat and the soft snoring now beating against his sensitive hearing from the willowy man's open mouth, it was not happening. Drumming his fingers on the wheel, Sylar gave up his count. "If I'm a boogieman," he began, "how would you expect a nightmare to bother me?"

She had no answer. His win.

As they drove and the evening darkened to night her heartbeat slowed - whether she was lulled into a false sense of security by continued life or her mind had just turned an off switch after reaching its quota of terror, he neither knew nor cared. The silence was a blessed relief. Her sniffling and sobbing had been driving him mad. For the moment she slept, her arm thrown over the second Mohinder's cage with her cheek pillowed upon it. With both of them no longer needing his constant attention, he could finally concentrate on his plan.

Twice he stopped, the first time to fill up his tank. Inattentive station workers missed it until it was too late for them to stop his starting jeep, but he doubted their cameras did. The second time had been to exchange license plates with a jeep that was somewhat similar to his current one. Depending on how long they took to notice the exchange, it might give hours or days before any fuss was made. By morning they would have a change of vehicles anyway. His not being noticed was a help there, but it would have been smarter for him to dispose of the people inside who owned it. Still, he had been fast and it should buy enough time. With his mind to unhook the bolts and his other powers to play support, the process didn't require his leaving the vehicle for too long. Through it all the child slept, neither she nor his geneticist stirring. By the time they were off he was beginning to wonder if children should be so unaware in their sleep as to not notice the stopping and starting of a vehicle. However, her pulse couldn't lie and asleep she was.

The stray stirred, muttering to herself about math and coloured pencils. By the sound of her heartbeat Sylar knew that she was waking. Swallowing his grimace, he kept looking into the mirror as she shifted and then blearily opened her eyes. There was a moment of confusion, a second of innocent thought, then she was again crying out about a boogieman. Sylar cursed, the throbbing pain that had finally left his temples once more rearing its head. He struck out with his mind to pin her mouth shut, relishing in the revenge offered by the look of terror that had filled those eyes. It wasn't a fast enough reaction to save him from this doubled problem, however. Mohinder's pulse had leaped at the sound, and the slow signs of the man's awakening were hard to miss. A glance at the clock told Sylar that it had been nine hours. He would have preferred more. The cabin was still a fair distance off.

Pushing for more speed on the old back road, Sylar watched closely as Mohinder's eyebrows drew together in a fine lines. The brilliant mind wasn't free just yet of the blanketing force of the sedative. Molly, Sylar noted as he shot a glance in the rear-view mirror, had pressed against the back seat and was staring at Mohinder with a pleading distress that was, again, amusing to see.

Long eyelashes fluttered against dark cheeks. There was a delayed breath, a sighing exhale at its release. For a moment after he opened his eyes the man stared ahead, eyes clouded and thoughts slow to awaken. The crushed and despairing expression that overcame Mohinder's beautiful face as they finally did turn on their delayed gears made Sylar's days of planning worth the time. The eyes shut against the sight of the empty wooded roads stretching around them. The lack of biting sarcasm and snide comments was a refreshing change from their usual time together.

A comfortable silence - for Sylar, at least - fell between them for a time. It was broken by uncomfortable shifting in the back seat.

"Molly…" Mohinder breathed the word, his eyes slow to open. A hand came up to press against the geneticist's temple as an attempt to turn around made him fall back into his seat heavily. Dizziness was an expected side effect, no need to be concerned.

"No good mornings for me, Mohinder? I thought for sure that you would at least give me a smile." Sylar loved how annoyance made the man's teeth click together at the back of his jaw. The pressing of those lips in anger was a sight he enjoyed. Outside, night was heavy in the air. The stars were scattered for miles, dotes of light surrounding a half-moon. There was little morning about the scene. Dark eyes fell onto the clock, narrowing at what they read.

"Have you even stopped?" There was a bite beneath those words that made Sylar's blood race with pleasure. Here was the one he desired, the man who could equal parts irritate and intrigue him.

"Long enough to fill on gas. Did you have something better in mind?" He took the chance to rake his eyes over the sagging body next to his, drawing out his time spent on the lower region. He chuckled as a quickening in the geneticist's pulse proved that even in the grip of the medication the other hadn't missed this action. Anger and fear was a lovely combination.

"Molly is not so easily cared for as that lizard in its tank," the smaller man was growling. "She has needs!"

Sylar made a show of considering those words, relishing in the feel of control. For all his bluster, he knew that Mohinder felt the possession. "Now that you mention it," he began slowly, drawing out the words, "I bet Mohinder is getting hungry. There should be a case of dead crickets somewhere behind the tank."

A loud exhale, the rush of blood through an angry man's veins. "_She_ needs food! And I expect a restroom - I, myself, need one. Unless you plan to murder us by -"

Sylar forced the man's jaw shut with a firm click, smirking at the increased anger in those lovely eyes. "Just a little longer," he teased in a falsely soothing tone. "Sit back and relax for now."

* * *

The jeep was perfect for the dirt path that Sylar veered off onto from the pitted road he had been taking. Mohinder wondered at the fact sure that there had been thought in this planning. If the murderer's intent had been to kill them then it would have happened by now, he knew, and worried instead at what else could be in store for them. It was another two hours before they were pulling up in front of a wooden cabin, one with windows covered by tarps and a yard that hadn't been tended in quite some time.

Sylar smirked over at him. Mohinder still felt a pressure beneath his jaw that refused him speech. "And here we are. You did say the little stray needed the facilities. If she's good then there might even be some canned food."

Residual effects of the drug coupled with too many hours of sitting in the same position made it hard for Mohinder to get to his feet once his door snapped open. Molly had clambered out and was wrapped against his side, her small hands locking over his forearm as if it would keep them both safe.

His heart broke when she dared to turn on Sylar, angry as much as terrified. "You hurt him!"

The man turned his back on her, a smirk on his lips and laughter in his eyes. The keys, Mohinder saw, were melting away from his fingers as he moved towards the door.

Despite the dizziness he made it inside, Molly still hovering protectively at his side. Sylar let them both use the filthy bathroom first, bragging that he had had his chance hours before while they were both out. Mohinder wanted to pitch a fight, attack the man and get Molly away, but without a vehicle and no idea what to do it was impossible. There wasn't even a phone.

A change of clothes had been produced by their captor, one for each of them and a promise of more hidden away. Clenching his teeth, Mohinder sent Molly to change first before doing the same, trading his clothes for the pair of sweats and the white tank that he had been provided with. It was too cold for those clothes, but the other man didn't appear to care.

True to his word, after they were finished Sylar found cans in a dirty cupboard and heated them in his hands. Seated on the cold wooden floor between Molly and the lizard in its tank, Mohinder watched the man like a hawk. Sylar met his eyes as the first can was mentally severed before being levitated over to sit in front of him, a metal spoon stuck into it. "Just soup. I'm not into your habit of adding extras."

Mohinder waited until Molly had hers before he took a bite. It felt heavy in his empty stomach and the burning taste of the salt overpowered the other tastes. He put the can down. Molly, ever a trooper, picked at hers without raising her eyes. After watching them for a time, Sylar sat to his own at the table, humming happily.

"You've never been taught grace," the monster mused after finishing, smirking over his empty can at the child Mohinder did his best to shield with his body. "We always said it at lunch. Maybe tomorrow I'll let you tell us what you're grateful for."

The murderer's long body slid languidly from the chair as the man stretched. Tucking an arm around Molly, Mohinder glared at him but the other merely smirked again. "Time to say goodnight," Sylar purred. "Stray gets the tub."

Mohinder started, looking first at the couch, then at the bed. Both were adequate for a small child. He wasn't so much a fool that he expected the man to willingly give up the bed, but to put her in there - in that filth -

"Or would you rather she slept in the jeep?"

Swallowing his ire, Mohinder stood. The few bites of meal and the prolonged time awake had eased his dizziness to where he felt steady on his feet. Molly had eaten half of her can, he noted, and felt a warmth of pride that she could be so strong. "Come, Molly," he urged. The distressed child followed on his heels as he led the way. Snapping on the light, Mohinder frowned at the filthy walls and then down into the tub itself. "Wait here," he murmured, resting his hand on her shoulder for a second before leaving.

In the main room he headed for the bed, snatching up the single quilt that was on it. Sylar surged towards him, shocked and not just a little annoyed. Mohinder held his ground, the quilt in his hands. "If she is sleeping in the tub," he snapped, "then she gets the blanket."

There eyes met with a clash of wills. Mohinder won this battle, the first since they had started this insanity. Whirling on his heels, he stalked to the bathroom and Molly with the single blanket. There he stretched it out over the bottom of the old tub. "Lay on it," he suggested, trying to smile at her scared face, "and pull the edges around yourself. I'm sorry. When this is over I promise…" He hesitated, groping for something to finish his line. He was not one to start them without a plan in motion, but her drawn face broke his heart. "I promise that things will get better," he whispered in the end.

She climbed into the tub like he asked and, tucking the blanket up to her chin, Mohinder placed a careful kiss on her forehead before standing. At the door he hesitated again, looking back at her small body curled in the base of the old tub. It was his fault, this entire situation, but there was no way for him to fix it. All he could do was keep her alive.

Mohinder pulled the door closed behind him, flinching as a chair scraped across the floor to pin it shut. Cold was again invading his nerves, holding him in place as the murderer lounged on the wide bed in the center of the room. "You gave away our blanket so now you get to keep me warm," Sylar purred, grinning sharply

"I'll be sleeping in the bathroom as well," Mohinder declared, backing against the chair that was being used as a blockade. "There are no windows so it's hardly a risk. Even if there were, your hearing would tell you what we were doing." The bitter words awoke only amusement in the murderer's eyes. Mohinder hated how the man seemed to enjoy almost everything that he said.

"You'll be out here," Sylar informed him, none too gently. "So come over. Unless you want something unpleasant to happen."

Mohinder wanted to refuse, to yell at the madman and tell him just what he thought of him, but the child on the other side of the bathroom door stayed his hand. _For her safety_, he reminded himself, and moved stiffly towards the bed. He sat on the edge farthest from the other man.

Fingers traced the line of Mohinder's jaw until he jerked away, turning to face a different direction. He could bite back angry words but nothing could hide the hatred that he felt.

"Don't fight," Sylar growled. Real fingers curled loosely around Mohinder's throat. "If you wake the little one then she might hear things."

"You're sorely mistaken", Mohinder growled lowly, snapping his eyes up to meet the other man's, "if you think that anything is going to happen between us." The fingers against his throat flexed, cords of muscle shifting in the larger man's arm. Mohinder felt cold as the fingers drifted down from his neck to stroke his chest. An unseen force rendered him immobile, preventing him from jerking away.

"The door is blocked. Even if she hears anything she won't come." Searing lips sucked on the lobe of his ear. "Of course, her yelling might ruin the mood. Do keep it down, won't you?"

Mohinder shoved the man away from him, angry, but it lasted only a moment and then an arm was again wrapping itself around his back. "Let go of me," he hissed, mindful of the child and keeping his voice down. Lips closed over his ear again, the arm a tight lock pinning their bodies together.

"_Tick, tock,_" Sylar murmured as his lips slid from the flesh of Mohinder's ear. Mohinder choked back a gasp as fingers coiled in his curls and jerked his head sideways, holding him there so that the man could nuzzle the dark skin of his neck. "You should try and enjoy yourself." Thr words were punctuated by sharp nips. Each time the teeth closed Mohinder shuddered, breathing heavily. The hand stroking up and down his side kept him in place, ghosting its touch but ready to pin him each time he tried to shift away.

"You don't really want this," Mohinder tried to reason with him. His voice sounded hoarse and desperate to his own ears. "I am the only person you know who can understand what you're going through without being a valuable kill. You're lonely and you're projecting that loneliness onto me. You don't want this." Feathery kisses were being pressed against his skin that he tried to ignore, but his last words came out as a whispered plea. "Don't do this."

Another hard nip silenced him. "If I had her power you would never escape me. Don't make me need it," the murderer whispered against his flesh. A final bite. Teeth remained pressed into his skin a moment longer than necessary, and within their grip Mohinder could feel his pulse thrum. Sylar withdraw and delivered a slow, damp lick to the abused skin. The hand against his side drifted lower, palm ghosting over his groin before settling there to rub.

Warmth gathered at the continual ministrations and Mohinder felt a whimper escape before he locked his jaw against the sounds. The hand continued to rub him through the cotton of his pants. "Just relaxing you for sleep," the murderer teased. "I wouldn't expect you to be ready again quite so soon." Tears prickled Mohinder's eyes as he struggled not to pant, his body quivering from the strain of holding himself back. His fingers clenched in the blankets beneath them, the old starched sheets rough against his grip. A moan escaped as he finally lost control beneath that hand, his back and neck arcing as he released. A husky chuckle echoed in his ear with a warm breath. The hand, instead of stilling, pressed harder against the dark stain seeping into his pants before coming away damp.

Trembling and heaving, Mohinder hardly noticed when the hand was pressed against his cheek. "Sleep," Sylar whispered in his ear, a laughing undercurrent beneath the word. The hand left Mohinder's face, the moisture remaining behind a cool reminder of what they had done. Long arms wrapped around him, locking his arms at his sides in an uncomfortable pin. Sticky and sweaty as he lay trapped in the murderer's arms, the overpowering exhaustion that filled his soul was still not enough to allow sleep for a long time to come. Instead, he lay listening to Sylar's deep breathing while hating himself and his weakness.

End Chapter


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